Passion Play
by Venillashiz
Summary: He was a doctor, loved and respected by many, along with his sister and her boyfriend. He was Chuck Bartowski - a charmer by nature and the best doctor that West Side Hospital could ask for. AU, Chuck/Sarah.
1. Prologue

A/N: Okay, I've decided to try something new, a complete AU of the Chuckverse, where Chuck's a doctor, working with Ellie and Devon, and the Buymorons are part of his entourage. I'll try to keep them in character, e.g. Jeffster still being total pervs, Shaw's still pining over Eve, Casey's still his badass self. But I'm relying on the reviews to tell me if this is worth continuing, so please leave some feedback if you can! Reviews are like a chicken soup for the soul. Thanks :D Anna's in this story, because I love her.

Oh and this story wasn't possible without my dearest beta, **theprincess1511**, who may start dabbling into the Chuck fandom soon! I can't wait!

Based loosely on The Antler's "Kettering", but I have no intention of giving Sarah cancer and/or letting her die. Don't worry.

Disclaimers - Don't own Chuck.

* * *

**West Side Hospital  
08:19AM**

"Dr. Bartowski!"

The two doctors, with arms looped around the other's backs, jumped away in an instant, as they turned to face the direction of the call. Looking expectantly at the nurse, the male doctor raised his eyebrows with a smile.

"Which Bartowski, Anna?"

She hesitated, eyes panning over the pair of siblings and their sensually-shaped mouths, before returning back to the clipboard in her hand. "Chuck," she pointed to the towering chocolate-eyed male.

"Sorry, sis, duty calls. I'll take a rain check on that coffee!"

He offered an apologetic smile and a salute of respect as he followed hurriedly after the petite Asian, keeping to her pace with long, confident strides. He clutched the clipboard in his hands, eyeing his unusually sparse schedule for the day.

"Wow, I've never had such an empty schedule before…" He smiled at his assistant. "That's good, right?"

"Yes, Chuckles, that's a good thing." He passed the clipboard back to her.

"Alright, lay it on me, Anna. What's on the agenda for today?" He tucked his hands into his coat pockets, pausing for a second to offer a pack of gummy bears to a few of the children in the Pediatricians' ward, on their way toward his department.

"You've got one surgery scheduled for today –"

"Paul Hawkins, bone marrow transplant. I remember."

"Yep, and some of the patients are due for another session of chemotherapy."

He squinted his eyes, thinking aloud as he rested his hands in his pockets, not once breaking his brisk stride. "Ray Richards, Patricia McKinley and –"

"And little Quinny…"

"Yeah, little Quinny," he sighed solemnly, in remembrance of the little six-year-old girl whose brain tumour had relinquished her of a normal childhood. He had spent two of those six years constantly treating her for relapse after relapse – if she was never going to give up, then neither would he.

"Other than that, you're free for the rest of the day, but you'll probably be the on-call doctor for the day."

"That's fine by me," he smiled, clasping his hands together. "I wanted to help Ellie with the emergency room anyway. Oh, by the way, I'd like Jeff and Lester to scrub in for the transplant today."

He had never seen Anna's eyebrows rise to such heights before. "Are you serious? You want those two losers to _scrub _for you?"

"Oh come on now, they're the most experienced surgical interns here…"

"That's because they can't be bothered to go any higher! They've been medical interns since you joined them four years ago. And for the record, Dr Beckman should've fired them by now, or at least give them their residencies."

"Fine, fine, but they're good at what they do. Who else would scrub for me anyway? _John Casey?" _

He chuckled at the mention of West Side's notorious janitor and part-time security guard, recalling the episode in which the burly, gruff man had nearly ripped out his throat for mentioning the mysterious lady whom he had been spotted with. But they were buddies – at least, he was, to Chuck – and they constantly met for lunch in the break room.

"No, but how about Skip Johnson or… Morgan?"

"Your boyfriend isn't a surgical intern – he's a nurse, like you. And, about Skip, I've told him thousands of times to get that mane tamed, but he can't bear to part with his 'fro."

"But what does that have to do with scrubbing in?"

He grinned as they rounded the corner, walking past the sign on the wall that pointed toward the Radiology department and struggling, albeit unsuccessfully, to stifle a chuckle. "It won't fit into the scrub cap…"

* * *

**18:48PM**

With swift, steady hands, he places the hypodermic needle directly atop of the man's pelvis, the overhead light pinpointing the exact spot where he was to insert it. As the anaesthesia kicked in, it would take a few more minutes for the patient to pass out completely.

And with a nod from the anaesthetist, he inserted the needle deftly into the patient's flesh, penetrating through the bone, where the marrow was located. He frowned as he felt a shudder under his fingertips while he steadied the needle with his gloved fingers.

"Dr Bartowski, his heart rate just spiked significantly."

"Lester, check his pupils. Jeff, grab a tissue and dab that sweat off, he's practically drowning in his own perspiration."

"Pupils are dilated, Chuck, and a little too misty, if you ask me…"

"Blood pressure's high and rising, doctor. Looks like he's going into shock."

"Heart rate's still climbing, we're losing him!"

"He's aware, and I'm pretty sure he's in a monumental amount of pain right now." Chuck calmly extracted the needle from the flesh, handing the blood-filled syringe to one of the surgical scrubs. "Give him the sedative."

"I'm on it," Anna smiled, injecting the fluid into the tubing that connected with the patient's hand.

"Daniel, how much anaesthesia did you give him?"

"Enough. With regard to his medical history, Mr Hawkins –"

Chuck sighed, resisting the urge to press his fingers to his forehead. "You gave him a Stage 2, didn't you?"

"Well, I… He was… Yes. Yes, I did."

"And pray tell, why did you do that?"

"Because I figured that he was less resistant –"

"You can't make assumptions like that, Daniel! You almost killed a man today, based on second guessing and presumption! You, of all people, would know that a Stage 2 dose barely numbs the patient at all."

"Dr Bartowski, my wife died five years ago… Evelyn Shaw died of an overdose of anaesthesia, because the doctor that operated on her decided that she deserved a little more than the normal dose of surgical anaesthesia."

"Look, I'm… I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Shaw. But I think you missed out the part where Ihad _never_ instructed you to give Paul Hawkins an extra dose in the first place! And don't think I'm not reporting this to Dr Beckman." He turned away despondently, disappointed in his colleague.

He placed a cotton bandage over the temporary wound on the man's waist and watched the black monitor by the side, indicating with its steady beeping, that Paul's heart beat had returned to normal. Smiling now, he nodded toward each of his colleagues with pride in his eyes, missing only Shaw.

After sterilizing and disposing of his surgical scrubs, he exited the theatre, surprised to see his sister waiting for him in the observation room.

"That was pretty impressive, Dr Bartowski."

"Thank you, Dr Bartowski," he chuckled, hugging her with a tight squeeze. "What're you doing here?"

"Meh, Devon's in surgery now. My schedule's pretty clear, what do you say about heading out for that coffee?"

"I've got a session with Quinn Matthews in a few minutes and that's pretty much the last thing on my schedule for the day… Mind waiting for a bit?"

"Oh, it's no problem at all! In fact, you mind if I sit in with her session? I haven't seen her for ages, and I wonder why…" Chuck grinned sheepishly, looping his arm through hers. "You'd better ring me up the next time you're treating that little angel!" She prodded his chest, emphasizing her words with force.

"Yeah, yeah… She's been asking about you too."

"Really?"

"Yep. She keeps asking when Dr Ellie's coming back. I think you just stole a patient from me."

"It wouldn't be the first… It's no secret that everyone thinks I'm the sweeter Bartowski!"

He sputtered for a second, eyes widening in utter disbelief. "Now, that – _that_ is a blatant lie!"

"Face it, Chuck," she patted his cheek with her hand, beaming as he began to pout. "You can't outdo your big sis."

Arm in arm, they frolicked toward the wards, coming to a stop outside one of the private rooms. He smirked, catching his sister's eye. "Watch this…"

Using his fingertips, he began to tap out an intricate beat, humming the easy tune of the "Spongebob Squarepants" theme song. After he was rewarded with a shrill cry of excitement and laughter, he opened the door slightly, pushing his head through the narrow doorframe.

"Hmmm… Where has little Quinny escaped to?" He called out, already detecting the quivering, giggling lump underneath the blankets. Peals of laughter resonated through the room, and he couldn't help but smile.

Giving his sister a wink, he spoke again. "Dr Ellie! I think I'll need some help finding the lost little Princess!" Another giggle escapes into the room, contrasting against the incessant beeping of the various machines surrounding the bed.

"Oh no, Dr Chuck, it seems that Princess Quinn's been captured by the evil Blanket Man! What ever shall we do?!"

"Have no fear, my lovely sidekick! I know just the thing!" He swore he heard a hitch in the little girl's breathing for a second, before he pounced, tickling her sides mercilessly with a predatory gleam in his eye.

She laughed and giggled – almost hysterically – as he pulled the blanket off her head and draped it neatly over her frail body. He exclaimed in total triumph, pumping his fists excitedly. "And the great Dr Chuck saves the day, yet again!"

She flashed him a toothy grin, and treated Ellie with one of the most enthusiastic waves she had ever given. His face melted into an easy smile. "Hey, Princess! How are you feeling today?"

"I feel good, Dr Chuck!"

"Really? You feel good, huh?"

"Uh huh!" She nodded her head with infectious gusto and he felt his head begin to bob in sync.

"That's great! That means you're ready for another round of chemo–"

He was interrupted by a whimper of terror, noticing that her quiver of excitement had turned to fear. And her eyes – shining with a fresh glaze of tears – pleaded with him, begged him. Then she was lost, buried beneath the blankets, as though it were a fort that could keep all the cancer and chemotherapy in the world at bay.

He smiled dejectedly, once again removing the blanket and placing it over her body. Brushing a hand across her scalp, his face fell, remembering that, once upon a time, she had possessed a head full of golden locks. "What's wrong, Princess?"

The volume at which she had voiced her reply couldn't even have counted as a whisper. "It hurts."

He caught his sister's eye as she stood to the side of the door – hers too, were filled with unshed tears. "Don't worry, Quinny. I'll make sure that if it hurts, you'll get some painkillers, alright?"

She was silent, and he leaned in closely to whisper into her ear. "I'll even make sure you'll get some ice-cream afterward? How about it, Princess?"

As she began to nod with renewed vigor, he matched it with his trademarked, heart-stopping grin, holding out a hand that she took excitedly.

* * *

**West Side Hospital - Parking Lot  
22:17PM**

In the darkness of the cool, chilly night, he walked – coffee in hand – through the near-empty parking lot of the hospital. As he plopped himself onto a nearby bench, shutting his eyes in the lull of the moment, he took in the fresh, breezy air with a deep breath. The bench creaked as his sister took a seat beside him, sipping her piping hot coffee with glee.

"That went surprisingly well, wouldn't you say so?"

"Yes, it did…" She smiles toothily, although all he sees are the faint imprint of stars, meshing with the night sky like polka dots on a dark backdrop. "I'm really proud of you, Chuck. I mean, what you did for Quinn… It just made me realize how much you've grown up – how far you've come from your Stanford days."

She takes a breather, pausing for a second to study her little brother. "Aces, Charles… You're aces."

His eyes immediately break from their mesmerized view to glance back at his sister, an awed twinkle shining in his chocolate orbs. "A Dad quote! I'm the one who's impressed now." He places a warm hand over hers. "Thanks, Elle."

"For the record, you'd make a great dad. So when are you gonna work on your love life? You do know that nearly half the hospital is pining for you, right?"

"When I get over Jill– Wait, they are?"

"Chuck…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I mean, I don't normally realize it, but I did notice that someone always sets a cup of coffee on my table every morning… along with the lot of anonymous love post-its placed strategically around the hospital."

"The coffee would be Morgan, considering the fact that he brings the coffee to you after I reject it every morning."

"Oh… Okay, but what about the post-its? They're sweet and all, but it's crazy!" He leaned in, whispering as though someone were eavesdropping on them. "I found one of them in one of the toilet cubicles before. It said, _'I heart you, Chuck Bartowski! Marry me!' _I've never been so traumatized in my life!"

"That would probably be Morgan too."

"Ellie!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding… Hmmm, maybe we should have a stake-out night. Just to see who brings the post-it the next morning."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it's one of the eighty nurses that we've got on our staff. No big deal…"

He looked up in puzzlement as she fell silent, her eyes darting around the quiet parking lot. "Did you hear that?"

"Wha-what? Hear what?"

"Shhh!"

Then he heard it – the soft agonizing moans that drifted from the nearby clump of bushes. His eyes widened in horror as he grabbed his sister by the arm, causing her to yell out in surprise. Only one thing registered in his mind: Zombie apocalypse.

"They're coming! Oh god, I knew this would happen! I don't play Call of Duty for nothing! Nazi zombies, my ass! Elle, we have to go, we have to barricade, leave the hospital. I've stocked up for this, I know what to do – I've read Max Brook's Zombie Survival Guide."

"Don't be silly. It's not a zombie attack…"

As though the universe felt the need to prove his point, another guttural moan emanated from the bushes. "It's a freaking zombie attack!"

"Chuck, shut up! I think someone's in the bushes."

"It's not _someone, _it's _something._"

"Will you please just shut up about your zombie theory?! I'm going to go check it out."

"No, Ellie!" He hissed as she stood from the bench, whispering her name fiercely as she walked steadily closer toward the unusual sound. Muttering a silent prayer, he mustered up the courage to follow, though staying a generous distance away from her.

He watched as she furrowed her brow in confusion, sharp eyes scanning the shrubbery with expertise. "There's no one here."

As the shivers ran up his spine, he feigned a shrug. "Maybe it was an animal or something?"

"No, it couldn't have been. It was definitely human."

Then he saw her. And all he could think to do was wrench the car door open, unbuckle her seatbelt, and carry her into the safety of the hospital – graciously ignoring the blood that stained his coat and buttoned down shirt that leaked from the gunshot wounds in her abdomen.

He could hardly feel her weight in his arms as he ran into the emergency room, with Ellie hot on his heels. He could hardly hear her shallow breathing over his whispered pleads for her to hold on; to not give up. He whispered softly into the crumpled form in his arms, her blonde hair cascading over his arm like a waterfall, stained red with her own blood.

The tears in her cobalt eyes propelled him forward, and he placed her gently onto a stretcher, wheeling her hurriedly into the operating theatre. He held her hand in a tight grip.

"Hold on, ma'am. Just hold on, don't let go. I'm right here. Hold on."

He felt her hand enclose tighter around his.


	2. Kettering

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking forever with this chapter, haha. Unfortunately, I won't be able to post for the next two weeks too as my exams are coming up next week. Anyway, here's chapter two, and I must warn you that there's a tad bit of swearing in this, though pretty mild. And by mild, I mean, it appears a few times, not because it's light swearing. Hence, it's rated T. Anyhoo, how did you guys like Chuck vs The Honeymooners?

I love you guys so much for taking the time to read/review my stories, thank you (:

Disclaimers - theprincess1511 just informed me that I didn't own Chuck. Sigh. At least I've got an awesome beta. (:

* * *

**Location Unknown, Los Angeles  
19:52PM – Previous Day**

In the shadows, she's practically a ghost, floating through the darkness; hiding from the light of the world – hiding from the sheer number of patrols that swarm around her position, all of them attempting to catch a glimpse of the person who had tripped their alarm. She grits her teeth as the culprit's voice crackles in her earpiece, demanding to know if she's still with a pulse.

A beam of light hits several crates, metres away, and she ducks lower, resting on her stomach as she rolls into a tiny crevice beneath two balancing crates, taking pride at the fact that she manages to fit, albeit snugly. Replying her partner would force her to give away her position, but not replying the other agent would force her to abandon their entire operation. And she didn't really feel like dying.

Instead, she presses the button on her watch strategically, aware that the static would travel to her partner's ears in Morse code. She grins as she acknowledges her presence, but the annoyance still burns in her chest at Carina's recklessness.

She keeps her hand on her gun, taking comfort in the cold metal that presses against her skin, reassuring her that she could shoot just about anything that crossed her path at any given time. She shakes her head, attempting to clear it. She wasn't normally this violent.

Her earpiece crackles to life again. _"Walker, I'm gonna cause a distraction. Cover me." _

She takes the chance, whispering softly into her watch. "About damn time..."

Gunshots resonate through the vicinity, and she grins as the beam of light disappears in an instant. She rips the gun from her waistband, rolling out from under her cover and surprising the poor bastard whose back faced her. He hardly had time to even lift his gun, when the bullet hits the back of his head, dead centre.

Another two gunshots ring in her ears and two more thugs fall to the ground in agony, writhing around as the bullet ruptured the arteries in their necks, one of the only chinks between their armour of Kevlar vests.

She jumps forward, over the growing pool of red liquid beneath the fallen bodies, with adrenaline still pumping wildly through her veins. This – _this _is the best part of being a spy, she decides. The feeling, the _thrill_, makes her feel like a drug addict getting his fix. Redbull might give you wings, but _this _gave you the power to fly.

It's ironic, seeing as how they were about to apprehend one of the world's most elusive drug dealers, Carlos Fernandez. She'd been eager to work with the DEA again; it gave her a chance to catch up with one of her only real friends in the world of espionage – Carina Miller, the wildcard of an agent. She'd vouch that most of Carina's "improvisations" had landed them in multiple pickles throughout their working life.

In other words, she saved both the world and their asses on a regular basis. But hey, she wasn't the CIA's best for nothing.

Strings of curses fill her ears as Carina begins to display a vast array of colourful, vulgar phrases that she hadn't even known existed. She takes down another thug with the mere force of her clenched fists, smirking as a particular Polish phrase drifts into her earpiece. Chuckling slightly, she speaks into her watch. "You alright?"

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. The bastard just took me by surprise, is all."_

"Geez, Carina, you should probably wash that mouth of yours, I'm not sure where it's been."

"_Wow, Walker, did someone just make a dirty joke? That was _bad_."_

Her eyes dart toward the doorway of the derelict factory, and she tightens her grip on the trusty Smith & Wesson, pausing for a second to reload the handgun with a fresh magazine. She picks off another patrol with a lethal combination of her fists and gun and admits silently to herself, with new-found pride, that she was absolutely badass.

"That maybe so, but at least I'm not the one who tripped the freaking alarm."

"_Pshh, bitch."_

A fist slams into her face and she staggers backwards, wincing as the burning sensation flows through her nose, along with a thin trickle of blood. She bites back a curse as she comes face to face with the burliest man she's ever encountered in her life. He smirks, revealing a set of blackened crooked teeth.

"I might need some help here," she calmly whispers into her watch, not giving the man, whose built could very well have been that of Arnold Schwarzenegger's, the satisfaction of witnessing her nervousness.

"_Still can't fight your own battles, huh, Walker?"_

She feels her face muscles twisting into a searing grin; she hears the teasing smirk in Carina's voice. Side-stepping another punch, she applies a perfectly executed roundhouse to his temple, and it's his turn to stumble backwards. As far as his contorted expression of anger showed, he wasn't going to back down that easily.

As he charges forward again, she lunges to the side, listening to the sweet sound of his body slamming into the crates behind them. The man lets out a feral growl, and he continues to pounce at her ungracefully, over and over again, landing only an occasional lucky punch or two, though landing nowhere near enough to cause serious pain.

It's the sudden emergence of her gun that causes him to stop moving completely. She double-taps the trigger, putting another round into the back of his head before moving cautiously towards her partner. "Warehouse is clear, where's Fernandez?"

"_Got him right here."_

As if to prove her point, a body collapses at her feet, a gun aimed straight to his occipital lobe. Carina prodded the gun against Fernandez's back, forcing him to his feet once she had slapped a pair of hand-cuffs over his wrists.

"Well, that's done," she chimed, before smashing the man's face with the butt of her gun, knocking him unconscious.

Sarah had to grin at that. "Did you call for the pick-up team?"

"Nah, I figured we could handle it."

She raised a skeptical brow, folding her arms across her chest.

"What? Don't look at me that way. We came in separate cars, remember? Your Porsche is much faster than mine, so I'll just go ahead and take those keys –"

"Don't you _dare_..." She hissed, her voice low and menacing. "Portia is mine, you got that?"

"Temper, _temper_," Carina shook her head gently, but smiled nonetheless. "Fine, I'll take my jeep. I'll see you later, Walker!"

At that, they loaded the unconscious Fernandez into the back of Carina's jeep with little effort. ("Skinny bastard, this guy.") Ensuring that the seatbelts gave him little chance of movement if he ever woke up, she hugged her friend with much vigour, giving her a peck on both cheeks before the other agent drove off.

She returns to the dilapidated warehouse, walking cautiously through the blue wooden door that hung haphazardly on its frame; its hinges, rusty and old. She pulls out her cell phone, alerting the CIA for a clean-up team to dispose of the multiple bodies littered around the compound.

She froze, her hand already reaching behind her back to where her gun rested. Gripping it tightly, she whirled around to face multiple barrels of guns. Only one hand was absent of a gun, and it reached out to stroke her cheek. She scowls at the man's gall, and instinctively, she knew that they had captured the decoy.

"Such a pretty face," he coos with a perverse smile that immediately hardens as she slaps another advancing hand away. "You could hurt someone with that gun, you know."

"Fernandez," she spat, with much venom in her voice. She discreetly places the gun in line of his crotch which she notes, with sickening awareness, swelled beneath his skin tight jeans. She feels the bile rise to her throat.

"Yes," he nods with a chuckle, completely bypassing her anger. "I am Carlos Fernandez. Can I help you?"

"It'd be great if you could stop kidnapping those little girls as mules."

He lets out another bellowing chuckle, his raspy voice echoing through the near-empty warehouse, save for the lifeless bodies and the scattered crates around them. His bodyguards begin to laugh along. She hides a shudder as the goose-bumps break out on her arms.

She laughs as she presses the trigger. Once, twice, three times. She laughs as she runs swiftly toward her car, hearing the sound of Fernandez's tortured cries behind her. She laughs as she jumps into her car, speeding off as bullets ricochet off the beautiful paint job that she had gotten for Portia – she lets out a whimper at that.

She laughs, until she feels the searing pain at the side of her hip. She stares down at the growing patch of blood on her blouse. "Fuck."

She's not sure how she's made it to the hospital, but all she wants to do is slump down into the comfortable leather seats and sleep. She convulses with a gasp and a moan that could rival a zombie's as a striking, searing pain shoots through her entire body. She tenses up, wincing in pain, as she hears nearby voices. She frowns, imploring them to just let her sleep.

And suddenly, she's in someone's arms, rushed into the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital. All she sees are his eyes – those warm chocolate eyes – and it makes her want to sleep again. Everything goes by in a blur, but she feels his hand squeezing hers so tightly, and she stays awake diligently, smiling as she squeezes it right back.

* * *

**West Side Hospital  
06:28AM - Present Day  
**

Planting himself onto the plastic, too-cold-for-comfort chair in the waiting room, he buried his face into his cupped hands. His tired eyes squeezed themselves shut involuntarily as he took in a deep gulp of breath, letting it out with a breathy shudder. It's a flashback to his first surgery, he realizes – he'd thrown up after, and spent a day or two inhaling enough coffee to keep a small town awake. And he'd been hyperventilating for God knows how long.

His sister stood over him, concern etched into the worry lines that creased her face. She rested a hand on his shoulder, speaking gently as his shivering reached her. "Chuck, honey, you okay?"

_Inhale. Exhale. _"She had gunshot wounds," he narrowed his eyes into slits, whispering in disbelief. _Inhale. _"Three, to be exact. She almost didn't make it." _Exhale._

"But she did, and you made sure of that. You saved her life."

"No, I didn't," he stared up at her with weary eyes. Smiling, he nodded toward her. "You did. You heard her cries for help while I stupidly dismissed them as a zombie attack."

"You spotted her, Chuck. I didn't," she shot him a smile, finally moving to sit beside him. She patted his hand. "I think you should take the rest of the day off, and maybe get out of those clothes…"

He looked down sheepishly at his coat and collared shirt – the browning patches of blood stains. He swallowed thickly, holding back a retch. He nodded shakily, immediately unbuttoning his soiled clothes. He hadn't even cared to realize that it had been his favourite shirt that had been ruined. "See you later, sis."

He barely heard her well-wished farewell over the sound of his thumping heart as he walked back toward the Oncology department where his office was located. He'd even garnered some horrified, shocked double takes from various staff members as they breathed the stench of iron that radiated off him.

"Hey, Chuck."

He nearly jumped an inch into the air as he finally noticed the two new companions that flanked him. Jeff and Lester gave him a once-over, shaking their heads in sync and whistling a downright "_you look like shit" _tune.

"Can I help you guys?" He sighed, tucking his hands into his pocket. Then, as though he had been burned, he took them out again, wincing at the patch of blood that had seeped through.

"No, no, nothing much going on right now…. Although, I just heard that you operated on this hot babe who got shot?" Chuck winced again, cringing at Lester's choice of words. He increased his pace slightly.

"Maybe she's a super spy, gone rogue and hiding from the government, and the only way she could've escaped was to shoot herself," Jeff offered, his blank expression breaking out in a smile that could've only been described as perverse.

"Are you drunk? Is he drunk?"

"No... No, he is not," Lester smiled, patting him heartily on the back.

"I don't really think there's a difference, Lester..."

"So, about that bombshell –"

He sighed, hand already reaching out to grip the doorknob to his office. "I'd really appreciate it if we didn't talk about patients that way. And I need to get out of this," he gestured toward his dishevelled outfit.

"Oh yeah, what up with the blood, dude? Are you on your period?" A series of snickers filled the corridor.

Jeff grinned, "I've tried wearing pads before."

He slapped a hand to his face, face-palming as he fought the overwhelming urge to punch his colleague in the face. Managing to keep his composure, he forced a smile before he slammed the door in their collective faces.

He let out a breath that he had unconsciously held, fully unbuttoning his doctor's coat and shirt. Thankfully, he had always believed in keeping an extra set of clothes in his office, in case of an all-nighter shift that was usually compensated with a shower and a fresh set of clothes. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. He grinned at the thought.

He showered mutely, allowing the warm liquid to wash away every trace of DNA that had stuck itself to his body throughout the day. He rid his arms of the crusty dried blood, ignoring the fact that at the base of the shower drain, the water had been tainted a light red.

As he stepped out of the shower, skin glistening with water droplets, he felt... exactly as he had before, much to his dismay. He wasn't even sure of what he was feeling – was it guilt? Or simply the unusual events that had taken place mere hours ago, taking its toll on him? He towelled off.

It was puzzlement, he decided. Confusion, over the blonde enigma whose life he had saved. There she was, lying deathly still on a hospital bed, forced into a medically induced coma, with three gunshots wounds and a whole lot of stitches to her name. And to be honest, he hadn't even a clue what her name was.

She was beautiful, that much, he'd noticed – as did Jeff and Lester – and he swore that if Jeff weren't so ridiculous all the time, he might just believe his crazy theory about her being a rogue government agent. He shook the thought out of his head and scrambled to get dressed. He decided to pay her a visit before he left.

* * *

"Dr Bartowski, I'm afraid I can't let you go in there." She shielded the door with her own body, staring up at him with fierce, determined eyes. He was, to say the least, impressed that she had not flinched once at their vast height difference. Despite the fact that he towered over her, she had matched his height with her empowering presence.

"What? Why not? I'm her doctor," he protested, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, lest he wanted to piss his superior off.

To be honest, before he'd joined West Side as an intern, he'd been pretty skeptical about working with his sister and Devon, whom he dubbed – rightfully so – as Captain Awesome. He'd been mostly doubtful, due to the petite, yet menacing lady, who ruled the hospital – Dianne Beckman.

As the hospital administrator, she was The Boss, The Bitch_, The Unsympathetic General. _And he was been pretty damned afraid of her. Her ginger hair made her all the more intimidating, though he wasn't sure why.

"The details are... sensitive," she narrowed her eyes as his own began to widen. "But you are no longer the active doctor for this patient. Besides, you're the Head of the Department of Oncology – you have far more important responsibilities to shoulder."

"But –"

"About Daniel Shaw..." He fell silent was pinned with another glare for interrupting her. "He has been suspended until further notice."

"Okay, but –"

"There is nothing left to discuss, Bartowski. My decision is final." He felt his shoulders – and every bit of his confidence – beginning to deflate as she turned to walk away from him.

In an instant, the tiny bearded man was by his side, as he should've been. Morgan patted Chuck in a comforting gesture as the downcast atmosphere reached out to grab everyone around them.

"Details are... sensitive? What the crap was that? Honestly, the least she could've done was to give the guy warning before they pulled your plug. I mean, did you see that girl?"

"Thanks, Morgan. That makes it so much better."

"Hey, you know, I thought it was rumour. But wow."

He spotted Jeff and Lester, ramming their heads together as they peered through the window of herprivate room, fighting for more viewing space. He sighed, patting his best friend on the back as he moved toward the door.

"Jeff, Lester," he greeted, watching in amusement as they scrambled into inconspicuous positions by the door. "What's up, guys?"

"Nothing of your concern," Jeff folded his arms across his chest.

"Keep moving, Bartowski. Nothing to see here."

Jeff stared pointedly at him – and he wasn't sure if he had imagined it – slipped an occasional wink into his gaze. "I heard Beckman, Chuck. Your girl is totally a government spy."

"Wh-why would you say that?"

Lester stepped in, smirking. "Knowledge is power, Charles. What do we get for telling you?"

"Uhh, it's a simple question – one that I'd like an answer to."

"My mum used to say _knowledge is powder._"

"That's, uhm, super, Jeff."

"No can do, Chuck. It's deal or no deal."

He glanced wistfully through the panel of glass in the door, watching the distinct rise and fall of her chest as she took steady breaths in her sleep. He noticed every little minute detail of her appearance, from the golden waterfall that was her hair, to the graceful contours of her cheekbones.

"No deal."

And he walked, with silent and heavy footsteps, out of the sliding glass doors of the hospital and toward his car, detouring toward a garbage bin to empty his vacant stomach. It growled vehemently in protest as he settled into the driver's seat, not making it past buckling himself into the seat before his eyelids began to droop.


	3. Sylvia

A/N: Sorry I've been MIA for the past week or two. I've been having my exams (failed pretty much everything) and I didn't have much time to write this. I hope this chapter makes up for the long hiatus! Many, many thanks to **theprincess1511**, as I couldn't have written this chapter without her awesome help. Also, a huge thank-you to **nirvana12** who has been graciously coming up with so many awesome ideas for this story (and you _will _see some of them in the coming chapters, if not this one) Thank you so much, fellow readers, for your kind patience as I struggle to dish out chapters. I hope I'll be able to update more soon. I love you guys (:

I'm not a doctor, so I have no idea what's going on in a hospital (maybe I should watch House or Mercy or ER?) so please do correct me if I have any factual errors! :D

Reviews are like hugs - when you review, you're making someone's day. (;

* * *

**West Side Hospital  
Two days after ****–**** 15****th**** November  
4:38PM**

All she sees is white – the white walls, the white sheets and the white spots that dot her vision as she views her surroundings with increasing annoyance. Then she feels the pain, slicing and biting at the wounds that mar her body, even as she lies stock-still on the hospital bed – the memories inevitably flooding her mind. She smirks at the fact that Fernandez would probably never be able to reproduce, or defecate ever again.

_Oh God, _she breathes, as the pain flares in her waist. But she can't find the energy to even raise her arm to the button by the side that would grant her the sweet induction of painkillers. The discomfort only continues to grow as the throbbing intensifies, and she squirms slightly, letting out tiny moans and groans when her dry, raw throat allowed her. _Damn it, Walker. Suck it up. _

But she could only whimper as the bandages begin to itch.

The door to her private room cracks open slightly, and her head whips instantly toward the sound. Her eyes light up in a mixture of surprise and pure joy at the sight of the brawny middle-aged man whose head protrudes from the door, eyes scanning the room in an instant, eventually meeting her own pair.

She squints slightly, vision still slightly hazy. He's dressed in a janitor's outfit. _Huh, interesting._

"Alex Coburn, is that you?" She winces at her cracking voice, weary from lack of use.

"It's John Casey now."

"And John Casey is a... janitor?"

"Head Custodian and Supervisor of Security," he announces smugly, quickly moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. At her sceptical, disbelieving expression, he frowns. "Some of us actually have to make a living, Walker."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," she shakes her head, regretting the decision almost immediately when more white spots cloud her vision. "Gah, damn it... I'm sorry, Cobu – Casey. I forgot you're retired. Still can't believe the Company let you go, just like that."

"Yeah, well, the NSA doesn't exactly burn their agents like the CIA."

"Huh, I doubt it. I think you're just old."

He lets out a snigger, falling easily into their easy banter that had once been the core of their three-year inter-company partnership. Back then, she had just been recruited out of Harvard, a wet-behind-the-ears rookie from the CIA, while Alex Coburn was a seasoned veteran in the field. She was pretty much the best damned partner he'd ever had.

"Carina called."

"Oh, that bitch totally owes me now."

"She's sorry that she can't send flowers." He shares a knowing look with her, and nods at her raised eyebrows. "She's in lockdown. Interrogation."

"You can't be serious? They think she planned it? But the clean-up teams –"

"Found only bodies and a whole lot of blood on the ground. No Fernandez, no Carina, and then you're brought in here, which only alerted Beckman to inform the director."

"And Carina's brought into custody. Damn," she clenches her fist, resisting the urge to slam it against a hard surface, even though her weakened state would've barely allowed her to. Then she begins to grin slightly. "Did they find part of his _package?_"

"Package? No, Carina didn't mention anything about a package."

She smirks, holding back a snigger, lest she wanted to rip her stitches. "Oh, okay."

"What is it, Walker? What's the package?" He demands, frowning as he folds his muscular arms over his chest. "Don't tell me he's got another load of mules there, or I'll kill the guy myself."

"Nah, it's nothing really. I just don't think Fernandez will be... functional for a while. I shot him at least three times."

He grunts, nodding, as an easy silence drifts over them. She watches with amusement as a slow, easy grin grows on his face as the realization sets in. He grunts with pride. "Always knew you'd do it someday, Walker. Lord knows how many times you've threatened me with that."

He settles against the glass panel in the door, blocking most of her view, but she still spots the distinct, widening eyes that stare back at her in that split second of eye contact, in that sliver of transparent glass. _It's him._

"The eyes," she whispers, the memories, once again hitting her with a rush of incessant emotions that she fought to keep under. Brown eyes._ His hand over hers. _She'd never felt so warm before. His eyes. _Beautiful, brown eyes. "Hold on, ma'am. Just hold on, don't let go. I'm right here. Hold on." _It's him. _Those eyes. _

_Oh, God. _"It's him."

"It's who?" He breaks her out of her reverie, and follows her gaze out of the room, into the retreating form of Chuck Bartowski.

* * *

"Casey, Casey, Casey, w-wait, before you kill me or anything, I swear, I wasn't eavesdropping or anything. I-I was just checking up on her."

"Put a sock in it, Bartowski. If I wasn't head of security, oh I'd..." He trailed off, leaving the other man's imagination to fill in the blanks of his unfinished threat. He releases the grip on Chuck's coat collars, and the lanky doctor lets out a yelp as he clatters to the floor in a heap.

"Who is she anyway, how do you know her?" He asks inquisitively, as he rises to stand, grabbing onto the door handle for some support. Casey's eyes widen in alarm.

"Watch it, Bartowsk–"

But the door had already been pushed open, and he tumbles backwards into her room, sprawled ungracefully on the cold, tiled floor. He groaned loudly, exaggeratedly, the pain in his back already causing discomfort as he writhed around on the ground.

"Um, hi there," he smiles sheepishly, waving at her enthusiastically from his position on the floor. He shrugged at her incredulous, expression, tinted with slight amusement."It's... it's nice down here."

He watched a tiny smile blossom on her face, and he decided that it was the smile that he would've loved to see on a daily basis. He watches her as she tries to keep a straight face at the hilarious sight of Casey hauling him to his feet. _Smooth, Chuck. Real smooth._

"Get out of here, moron," Casey shoves him violently out the door, but she still catches the dazzling grin that he shoots her way.

"Casey, wait."

The janitor whirls around in confusion, fingers not releasing the back of Chuck's collar. Chuck pops his head back into the room, offering a toothy, grateful smile at her protest.

"Dr Bartowski, right?" She smiled, finding the strength to lift her hand to grip his in a handshake. His hand was warm, smooth and comforting, and she feels a lingering tingling sensation even after he breaks their momentary grasp.

"I just wanted to thank you," she smiled, gesturing toward Casey with a nod. "Our friend here told me that you brought me in."

Casey cleared his throat, recalling no such thing in the course of their conversation. As her steely glare pins him to his spot, he had no choice but to play along. _She__'__ll blow off your man-parts, man. Just do as she says!_ _Damn, Walker. First time I__'__m actually scared of someone. _

He cleared his throat again, this time exaggeratedly. Slapping a hand against Chuck's back, he grins as the younger man turned to him with narrowed eyelids and a wince. "Yeah, I did. Just thought you'd like some credit, Bartowski."

"Oh, you're very welcome, Miss... Sorry, I'm afraid I don't have your name."

She hesitated for a moment, studying his brown eyes with her own. Her father had always pointed out her knack for reading people by the tone of their eyes. _Beautiful, brown eyes. _He was beautiful. "Sarah Walker."

He gave her an elegant bow, eliciting a rather pointed roll of the eyes from his colleague and the flicker of a smile from the beautiful enigma lying on the hospital bed. "You're very welcome, Ms Walker."

A split second before the moment turned to one of extreme awkwardness, he clasps his hands together, facing both the occupants of the room. "So, since Casey won't tell me anything – and I don't mean to intrude, I mean, sure this is intruding but I don't mean to pry or anything, I'm just being curious and all. Wait, I guess that's being intrusive –"

At Casey's barely disguised growl of frustration, which was a common occurrence around him – he wasn't sure why – he finally got to the point. "How... do you two know each other?" He directed his finger between both of them, and watched as the two faced each other with knowing glances.

"We, uh, we worked together once –"

"FBI."

"Whoa, FBI? Casey, you were FBI?"

"Sure, announce it to the world, numb-nuts."

"Oh, come on, we're in an enclosed room. FBI? Buddy, you worked for the F.B.I? And you never told me?"

"Oh, I apologize, Bartowski. I had no idea we were _buddies_," he accentuated the word with quotation marks. Chuck rolled his eyes, before turning toward Sarah, just to include her in the conversation.

"Ms Walker –"

"Please, just Sarah."

"Alright, just call me Chuck then," he smiled. "Sarah, if I'm not being too forward, that's how you got shot, isn't it?"

She furrowed her brow slightly, nodding. "Yeah, uh, it is."

"Wait, so Beckman knows about this? Is that... is that why she reassigned me?"

He swore he saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. _It__'__s your imagination. _He felt the same way, imagination or not. She spoke in a whisper. "So you're not my doctor then?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, hiding his obvious displeasure of the new arrangements. "I guess not, but I haven't seen anyone going in and out of your room for the better part since you've arrived." His face was flooded with a tinge of red. "Not that I was looking specifically at your hospital room, you know. I was, uh, looking in the general direction of your room."

"Keep it in your pants, Bartowski."

He blushed even more, wanting nothing more than to bury himself into the ground and tunnel his way back to safe house that was his office. And maybe he could kill himself there. _No, no. Quinn needs me, _he reasoned. He redirected his shy glances away from her, keeping his eyes directed into the metaphorical dancing purple elephant on the floor. If he had been looking at her, however, he would've noticed the amused – almost flattered – grin that she had thrown his way.

"Alright, so I should be heading back now, I've got a pending visit with the lovely Quinn Matthews ," he smiled disarmingly. His mind played cruel tricks on him as he could've sworn her face had darkened before returning into a schooled mask, wiped clean of emotion, save for the ghost of a smile that lingered on. He stuck out a hand again, out of politeness and out of wanting to feel that electrifying spark that he had felt moments before.

"It was nice to meet you, Sarah. I'm sure you'll be up and about in no time." He graced her with his blinding smile, bringing out the old doctor's joke before he closed the door behind him. "I hope I never see you again!"

He failed hear the tiny whisper that escaped her lips, "I hope not."

* * *

**West Side Hospital  
Department of Oncology  
15****th**** November  
5:27PM**

"I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind," he muttered it as though it were his lifelong mantra. A hand brushed against his cheek, moving to take his hand in hers. He opened his eyes to meet the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever gazed into – well, one of them. A certain pair of baby blues had reached the top of his list that very afternoon.

"You're not crazy, Dr Chuck," Quinn grinned, giving his hand a tiny squeeze which he reciprocated. "You know who's crazy?"

Chuck shrugged, a smile already blossoming across his face. It was hard to be sad around the bubbly little girl in front of him. "I don't know. Who's crazy?"

"Spongeboob!"

He burst out in a fit of laughter as she imitated the cartoon character, protruding her own two front teeth and wrapping herself in the yellow blanket that had previously been draped across her lap. "Isn't it supposed to be Spongebob?"

"_I'__m ready, I__'__m ready, I__'__m ready!" _She chanted, bouncing heartily on the bed and settling back into her comfortable spot when Chuck had begged her to stop. He brushed his hand over her bare scalp again, eyes glazing over as he took in the sight of her – he loved her as though he were her own daughter.

"Spongebob!"

She saluted, expression turning serious. "Aye, Mr Krabs!"

"What are ye doin' all standin' around for? I'm not payin' ya to do nothin'!"

She giggled. "But you don't pay us at all, Mr Krabs!" Her voice went high and nasal – Squidward.

"Get back to work, ye landlubbers!"

"What's a landlubber?"

"I have no idea," he deadpanned, and she began to thrash about on her bed in a fit of giggles.

"You're not crazy, Dr Chuck," she repeated, grinning from ear to ear. "Why would you say that? Is it because you've got a _girlfriend_?" She stretched the last word cheekily, sniggering in delight when his cheeks began to burn a noticeable shade of red.

"No, no, not a girlfriend. She's just a friend," he replied, his voice an octave lower than usual.

She fell silent, still panting from her slight workout, gazing at him with her bright green eyes. "Dr Chuck?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I can be your girlfriend if she doesn't want to."

"Thank you, Princess. But it's alright."

"Dr Chuck?"

He chuckled. "Hmm?"

"Do you think Mummy and Daddy are gonna come visit me soon?"

He paled visibly as he felt his heart implode into, what possibly was, a thousand pieces. She faced away from him, and for that, he was extremely grateful that she did not witness him brush away the unshed tears in his eyes. Kids – so brutally honest, so... _curious. _

_No, they aren__'__t coming back, Princess. _"You made them a promise, didn't you? That you'd stay here and once you get better, they'll come pick you up. Don't you remember?"

She curled up on her side, and he shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't receive a reply.

"You're doing extremely well, honey. So it shouldn't be long till you see them again!"

No reply.

"Come on, Princess. How about we skip over today's session, huh? You wanna take a walk outside again?" He spoke softly, afraid to break the acute silence that had enveloped them like a fragile sheet of paper that would've torn with any sudden movement or sound.

Nothing.

He brushed a hand over the top of her head and left the room, shutting the door with a last worried back glance. He settled back in his office. He leaned back in his chair, sipping the fresh cup of coffee that had mysteriously appeared on his desk again, along with the note, "_You rock my world, Chuck Bartowski!"_

George and Maggie Matthews. The headlines were still fresh in his mind.

"_**Five killed in Tragic accident"**__–__ An accident occurred on a California highway at approximately 10:47PM of October 5__th__ 2009, taking the lives of five commuters travelling on the Santa Monica Freeway, on Interstate 10._

He squeezed his eyes shut and proceeded to massage his temple. _"A year," _he breathed, as though the words themselves made absolutely no sense. "An entire year and I haven't even told her." _How could I...? _

_Among the unfortunate casualties are George Matthews and his wife, Maggie Powell, who had been travelling along the freeway, when the truck had overturned in their vehicle__'__s path, as witnesses have reported. . ._

"Told who?"

He jumped a mile into the sky, his heartbeat pumping in wild palpitations as the shock set in. He looked up to the smiling face of his sister's boyfriend, whom he saw on a daily basis, judging by the fact that he lived under the same roof as said Captain of Awesome. He forced a smile, greeting the _awesome _man with a meek, "Hey."

"Dude, mind if I come in for a bit? I've got, uh," the blonde doctor looked over his shoulder nervously. "I've got something important to discuss with you, bro." He mouthed the word _Ellie, _if Chuck had deciphered it correctly. He was never one for lip-reading.

Devon seated himself in one of chairs opposite Chuck's desk, folding his arms as he shot Chuck a grave look. "Dude, your sister's been worried about you."

"W-what? Why should she be?" He chuckled unconvincingly. Then he narrowed his eyes into slits. "Wait, did she send you to talk to me?"

"Indeed, bro. Indeed."

"And...?"

"Well, Chuck," he stared pointedly at him. "It has come to my attention that – one, you're not sleeping enough. Two, you're not eating well enough. And three, you've been drinking _way _too much coffee to be considered healthy. What's up with you, bro?"

He sighed, leaning into the soft leather of his desk chair. "I'm fine, Devon. I've just... got a lot on my plate at this particular moment."

He eyed his almost-brother-in-law curiously when the other man remained silent. Devon pointed a finger in his direction. "You know what you need?"

"No, I – I don't know what I need. And frankly, I think I want to know what I need." He'd been through Devon's methods once before and that incident, unfortunately, had ended in a trip to his very own hospital when he had been attacked by a not-so-adorable-after-all raccoon while hiking in the woods with Devon himself. It hadn't been pretty.

"Come on, Chuck. No more hiking stuff, don't worry. I still haven't forgotten your Raccoon incident. I'll just whip up some of my ginseng protein shake for you," Devon raised an eyebrow, and began to wiggle it. "It does miracles for your _wang _energy, if you know what I mean."

"I really, really don't, Devon." He collapsed his face into his hands.

"Which just brings me to point out one fact – you need a lady, my friend."

"All out of those," Chuck quipped jokingly, with a forced smile.

"Ah, but a little birdie named Morgan has already informed me that you have your eyes set on a particular lady friend, eh?"

"I'd rather not get into that... She's a patient, and I am _barely_ part of her league, let alone species."

"Uhuh, but she's not _your _patient, is she? You've been taken off her case. _You__'__re not her doctor._ And about the species part... Believe me, Chuck, you may be a nerd, geek... whatever, but you've got that charm. And I happen to know that the Bartowskis' are _very _charming, _passionate_ people."

He felt the sour taste of disgust fill his mouth. "Oh God, Devon, don't ever talk about my sister that way again. Please." He stood up and shuffled around his office, whispering, "Brain bleach... where's that brain bleach."

"Are you on drugs?"

He whirled around, meeting highly analytical eyes with his own shocked pair. "I am not! How could you even suggest such a thing?"

"I dunno, I was watching House the other day," Devon shrugged. "And Thirteen was totally drowning herself in drugs. Olivia Wilde is smokin'."

"Oh, it must've been a re-run – I've seen that one before." he said tiredly, re-settling back into his chair, hoping for a change in subject.

"Well, bro. I've gotta run, but I think you should go pay a visit to your lady friend," Devon slipped him a wink as he closed the distance to the door. "I hear she's been giving her doctor loads of crap."

"She has? In what way?" He replied, puzzled expressions crossing his face as he too, stood up politely, walking the other man to the door. _When did my replacement take over?_

"Oh, you know, doesn't respond when asked a question, won't take any of the prescribed painkillers. I heard she busted his nose when he tried to administer it himself." Despite the situation, Chuck had barely managed to stifle a giggle.

"Well, see you later, Chuck," Devon smirked as he walked away, coughing into his hand to disguise a chuckle as Daniel Shaw walked by with a heavily bandaged nose. Then he furrowed his brow. _Wasn__'__t he suspended?_

"Hello, Chuck," he glowered; a menacing smile that did not belong had spread across his face. "I just wanted to come by and thank you for giving me that wake up call, buddy. Beckman gave me a second chance and I'm not about to waste it. I'm now the doctor of one gorgeous Sarah Walker."

"Didn't she give you that broken nose too?" _Chuck __–__ 1; Shaw __–__ 0_

His expression hardened slightly, his smile immediately faltering. "Stay away from her, Bartowski. I saw you meddling around outside her room with those idiots, Jeff and Lester. I'm going to woo her, and by the time she's discharged, she'll be eating right from the palm of my hand."

"And her palm will smash straight into your nose – again – the moment you try anything more than talk to her," he retorted smartly._ Chuck __–__ 2; Shaw __–__ 0_

As Shaw walked away sulkily, muttering gibberish under his breath that sounded close to, "pole" and "ass", Chuck smiled, closing the door to his office and walking straight into the hospital's cafeteria, refusing to converse with anyone else. He had only one thing on his mind – Sarah Walker. And he had a feeling she wasn't leaving any time soon.

"Two coffees and two swizzle sticks, please."

_

* * *

_

_Aren't you gonna give me a big ol' hug right there?  
_


	4. Atrophy

A/N: The lack of updates came from a deadly combination of a writer's block and (too much) school work, I swear! Please forgive me (: Chapter 4, woohoo! I did my best to churn out something that was actually readable, but **theprincess1511** decided that it was shite, so I rewrote the ending and she thought it was much better. I think she's lying. Is she lying? Tell me if she's lying. I'm sorry if this A/N sucks, I'm really sleepy right now, and I've gotta wake up pretty early. Thanks so much for sticking around and reading this story even though it's crap.

Disclaimers - I don't own Chuck.

* * *

**West Side Hospital  
18****th**** November  
4:30PM**

"Wait, so you call him _Captain Awesome?" _

"Yeah, wait till you meet him! Everything he does is _awesome_. Climbing mountains, jumping out of planes, flossing..." He deadpans, before breaking into a heart-stopping grin that thawed her heart, just a little bit.

She grins, unable to stop the chuckle that escapes her lips. "That's funny."

She watches curiously as he shrugs nonchalantly, his lips curling into a tiny smirk. "Well, I'm a funny guy."

She takes a quick sip from the coffee cup placed by the side of her hospital bed, revelling in the feeling of the warm liquid flowing down the back of her throat. She sighs contently, resting the cup in her palm while she glanced back at him. He'd been bringing coffee to her, almost every day, making conversation and giving her a chance to see him, since he wasn't her doctor. And she wasn't exactly complaining either.

As she still felt the sharp burn of her wounds with every movement, she had grudgingly accepted the painkillers Chuck had offered, along with the explanation of why she had been brought out of a medically-induced coma prematurely – she had somehow been resistant to the drug. But she wasn't about to tell them why.

"That's good, because I am _not_ funny. It's rare that you find a doctor with so much character, but I wouldn't know. The last time I've ever been to a hospital was when I was at least eight years old."

_Liar. _She knows for a fact that the last time she had been admitted to any hospital had been a mere three years ago, where she had been working solo for the better part, after Casey had she hadn't been kidding about the doctors-with-no-character part.

"No way, _eight years old_?" He exclaims in shock, and she smiles at his comical reaction.

"I'm a pretty healthy person."

"I can see that."

They fall into a lapse of awkward silence as she hides her blush into her coffee cup, cursing silently when the last of her coffee travels into her stomach. She feels its tingle as she catches the red hue that colours his cheeks, and she watches him avert his eyes, darting them toward the floor, towards his pair of jet black Chuck Taylor's. She fails to catch the giggle before it escapes her lips.

"What?" He asks, grinning brightly as their eyes meet again.

She bites her lip, chewing softly on the flesh, shaking her head slowly.

"Come on, tell me," he urges sternly, although his expression spoke volumes of the humour in his mood.

"Nah, it's stupid..." She reasons, albeit futilely as she catches the look in his eye.

Catching her gaze, he looks down at his attire. She covers her mouth with a hand, hiding a smile, as his hand inconspicuously checks the zipper on his formal black pants. Puzzled, he turns his attention back to her, eyebrows creasing in frustration.

"You're wearing Chuck Taylor's," she states, matter-of-factly.

"And?"

"You're Chuck. And you're wearing Chucks."

"Oh, yeah," he grins toothily, as though he hadn't noticed that fact before. He gives her a roll of his shoulders. "Ellie, my sister, thought it would've been a great topic of conversation in adulthood, so she's been training me to wear them since I was a kid. On the plus side though, they're _really _comfy."

"Ellie... Ellie Bartowski? Isn't she a doctor here as well?"

"Well, well, well, look who's been doing her homework!"

"It might've have been due to the fact that the nurses always ask which Bartowski I'm asking for whenever I push the damn button," she smiles, though her tone conveys just the right amount of irritation.

Before he can reply, however, she cuts in, "I'm sorry for hurting your friend, by the way. He kept hitting on me. The guy just managed to put the painkillers in before – once again, I'm sorry – I punched him. I didn't really use _that_ much force though... I barely had enough energy to lift my arm."

All he could say was a high pitched, "Oh?"

"In my defence, I was technically drugged. I just lost it for a bit there."

"It's alright, I've spoken to Daniel, and he's completely fine with it. Apart from the huge bandage over his nose, of course. "

They share a smile for a minute or so, before they both chime harmoniously in peals of laughter. He notices the dimples that form in her cheeks when she laughs, and how she normally covers her mouth with a slender hand, as though the action of laughing was something that was not meant to be shared.

He's always been an observant person, never failing to memorize detail, colours, quirks and scars. He notices the way her eyes tended to sparkle even brighter when she laughs. He notices how her teeth, though imperfect, complimented her features in every way possible. He also notices the colour of her eyes – the greyish blue hue that paralyzed him with just a simple glance. Even Quinn Matthews' eyes had nothing on hers. And Quinn's eyes were the most striking set of green he'd ever seen.

"So... music, what's your favourite band? I mean, everyone has a favourite band, right?"

"Wrong," she smiles, shaking her head gently. "Music hasn't really been at the top of my list." Near the bottom actually, she though ruefully.

"You're can't be serious. I thought... I always thought that you know... cops..."

"I'm not exactly the kind of cop who sits around eating donuts every night."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Even Seeley Booth, FBI agent extraordinaire, had decent taste in music."

"Seeley Booth? I don't think I know him," she replies, a feeling of dread building in her gut. The lies were perturbing for her. She hated the FBI with a burning passion.

"You're kidding, so you don't watch TV shows either? _The Big Bang Theory? Bones?"_

"I don't know what that means."

"Okay, wow. You sure about that? I mean, that was a total Bones moment right there."

"I'm assuming that _Bones _is a television show."

"Yes, it is. You're just like Temperence Brennan, the clueless, socially awkward anthropologist who solves grisly crimes with Seeley Booth – handsome, charming, suave and a highly respected FBI agent," he clears his throat, gesturing cheekily to himself. "Except, you know... the occupations are reversed."

"I may be clueless about today's modern culture, but I hardly think I'm socially awkward."

"Says the woman who punched a man in the nose for hitting on her," he teases, giving her a heart-stopping grin.

She shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring the deafening drumming of her heartbeat. "He was being obnoxious and I'm violent when I'm intoxicated."

He glanced down at the empty coffee cups that decorated the side table, clenching his own in his palm. "Thank God this isn't alcohol then."

She erupts in a grin, putting her hands up in surrender. "Fine, I do have _one _favourite song. _Creature Fear _by Bon Iver," she nodded absently, wringing her hands slightly, worried that it wasn't something of his taste. She frowns inwardly. _Why the hell would it matter if it didn't suit his taste? _

"Indie, I love it." She felt the world around her inflate with relief.

"I've always found it to be such an auditory aphrodisiac," he pauses with a faraway look upon his face, unfazed by the awkwardness he had just created around them. If he had noticed the thick tension building, he gave no indication whatsoever. "That, and Arcade Fire's first album."

"I've never heard of them..." She spoke tentatively, the atmosphere ensnarling her in its choking grasp. She wasn't even sure why they had steered to the topic of auditory aphrodisiacs. She didn't like it, attracted to him or not.

"I'll show it to you sometime," he spoke lightly, in a completely I'm-not-flirting-with-you tone. Yet, her cheeks burned a bright red and the deep bass of her heartbeat rang in her ears. And the butterflies. _God, _the butterflies. They attacked her stomach without mercy. This feeling, she hesitantly accepted.

"I'd like that." Stunned by the honestly in the statement, she lets her eyes linger on his for a moment.

"Yeah? I think I could convince Beckman to spring for a stereo in here," he surveys the room with wide, determined eyes as she looks on with amusement. The room was large, in her opinion, with the bare necessities stocked up around the private room. The bathroom situated at the corner hardly took up any space, and whatever space her bed did not occupy, a comfortable set of chairs took up – one of which he was seated upon.

She regards him with playful, teasing eyes. "Or you could simply bring an iPod for me, you know?"

"Ah, yes, I could. But you wouldn't be able to call it your own! Where's the fun in that? Besides, you might probably decide to keep it after you get a taste of my brilliant music taste."

"Touché, Mr Bartowski."

They grin at each other for another few moments, before they're interrupted by the squeaky hinges of the opening door.

"I'll get Casey to oil those," he says suddenly, causing her to break out in a grin, when Shaw steps into the room, his lips pressed into his typical grim line. The perpetual frown on his face grew, if it were possible, when he finally acknowledged that the room was occupied by an extra person.

"Dr. Bartowski, may I speak to you for a moment, please?" His tone cold, eyes narrowed dangerously.

With a sigh and an inconspicuous roll of his eyes, Chuck stood up from the plastic chair, giving her a polite nod and smile before he followed the larger man out the door. He folded his arms, narrowed his eyes and simply stared as Shaw did the same.

"I'm telling you now. Stay away from her," the other man snarled before he pushed through the door, leaving Chuck no room for a reply.

* * *

**West Side Hospital – Cafeteria  
18****th**** November  
7:47PM**

Turkey. Muenster. Eggbread. Grilled.

A delicacy that sat neatly stacked and fresh out of the oven, in his outstretched palm as its mouth-watering aroma filled his nostrils – caressing them with a tender and welcoming hand, causing an unflattering stream of drool to dribble from his lips. He closed his eyes, revelling in its heavenly smell.

The smell of it was intoxicating – as heavenly as a freshly brewed cup of coffee, or the scent of a steaming plate of pancakes in the morning – yet it carried its very own aroma, it's very own brand of perfume that celebrities could only wish they had designed.

He brought the sandwich closer toward his mouth, awaiting the colourful burst of flavour that normally tickled his palette. As he sunk his teeth into the soft bun, through the layers of turkey and succulent cheese, the stream of drool that travelled from the corner of his lip to the base of his chin thickened.

"Enjoying your sandwich there, I see?"

His eyes snapped open, coming into contact with the bearded face of Morgan Grimes, who stretched his body across the table, leaning toward his sandwich. He grunted in surprise, frowning deeply before shoving the other man back into his own chair. He growled, putting the sandwich back into its brown paper bag, using a hand to clench its opening protectively, as though someone were reaching out to swipe it from him.

"What do you want, Grimes?" He spat, folding his arms and leaning back into his chair.

"Well, you heard about Chuck, Daniel and that smoking hot patient that they're fighting over, right?"

Shaw_? Bartowski? _Fighting over_ Walker? _

He narrowed his eyes, piercing the shorter man with a menacing glare. "What the hell are you blabbering about?"

"You gotta be kidding me, John. You're the head of security and you don't know? Okay, Chuck told me that Daniel threatened him. Told him to stay away from the girl that Chuck rescued. I mean, come on, who does that?"

"All's fair in love and war, Morgan," a sly voice answered as the dynamic duo of Jeff and Lester seated themselves next to Casey, depositing their trays of food on the tabletop. "Dr Shaw has every right to fight for Chuck's lady friend."

"Maybe so, but would it kill the guy to realize that she's already punched him in the face _and _rejected him?"

Jeff shrugged, stuffing a Subway footlong into his mouth, whilst attempting to speak. "I once chased a fair damsel, even after she threw her shoe at me and slapped me... twice. It was worth it."

Morgan merely stared in disbelief. "Moving on," he spoke slowly, still keeping a tentative eye on Jeff. "Chuck's my best pal, and if Daniel wants to mess with him, he's going to have to go through me. Who's with me?"

"You'll be pulverized within minutes – the guy's an anaesthetist! He's practically Superman."

"How in the world does _anaesthetist_ translate to _Superman?"_

"Obviously, my good man," Lester stated with a cool, calculated smirk. "He'll overpower you, leave you in a deep sleep, _then _he'll beat you up. Since Superman is fairly righteous and does not kill innoce– Oh my god, that isn't the Chuck sandwich, is it?"

Casey's eyes widened, his jaw already moving to grind the revered sandwich in his hands. In a split second, the sandwich was back in its paper bag, a hand clamped protectively on the body of the bread itself. "Go get your own, Patel," he glared when Lester's eyes drifted hungrily over the brown bag.

"She ran out of muenster and eggbread," he whimpered as Casey brought the sandwich out of its bag again, slowly and deliberately taking a bite out of it. Then, eyeing the canteen, he zero-ed in on the sandwich deli shop that occupied a permanent place in the hospital canteen. His eyes nearly watered as the black board read, _Chuck Bartowski sandwich SOLD OUT._

"A Chuck isn't a Chuck without the cheese."

Morgan jumped out of his chair, eyeing his companions with a gleam in his eye. "Guys, if you help me help Chuck with Daniel, I will treat you to _the_ Chuck sandwich for the rest of the month. I'll even bribe Lou to set aside the sandwiches first, so that they're fresh and available."

"I don't know, Morgan. What makes you think Lou will accept your bribe?" Lester picked at his nails.

He held up his hands in reassurance. "If she won't, I'll just tell Chuck to ask her then. After all, the whole reason why said wonderful sandwich exists is because of our boy, Chuck. Dude saved her life when she was involved in an accident. Surgery was required, and if you don't mind me, gentlemen, I'd rather skip out on all the gory details."

"No, we'd like to hear all the gory details, actually," Lester leaned closer against the table, turning to Jeff with a smirk. "Wouldn't you, Jeffrey?"

"I would," Jeff grinned, an image that nearly put nightmares in Casey's head.

"What," Casey growled. "Exactly are you planning to do to Shaw, Grimes?"

Morgan shrugged, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I was thinking of maybe getting in contact with the... Bartowski-Lover, and possibly changing that name to Shaw-Lover."

A collective gasp passed through the table, save for Casey, as Jeff and Lester scrambled to lean forward, listening attentively. "You know who the Bartowski-Lover is? She's been Chuck's most elusive secret admirer for all this while, and you've known her identity the whole time?"

"Indeed," Morgan nodded smugly. "I'll never tell you two who she is, though. You have enough restraining orders against yourselves – Ow! Ah! What the heck are you doing, Casey?"

With Morgan's collar in his fist, Casey dragged the man-boy away from the table, stopping only to discard the remains of the paper bag. Closing the door to the bathroom, he cornered him with a pose that spelled deadly consequences if escapes were attempted.

"I've been after Bartowski's stalker for months. Tell me who she is."

"No," Morgan said, bravely, if not a little hesitant.

"You either tell me, or I rip every last strand of hair from your beard."

"You can't break me, fool!"

A muffled cry of pain later, Casey removed his knee from the other man's groin, grinning evilly when the bearded man sucked in a breath.

"It was his sister, okay? Damn it, John. If you make me a eunuch, I will never forgive you."

"His sister? Why would his sister leave lovey-dovey post-its on her _brother's _table?"

"Look, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but after his breakup with Jill, Chuck's been pretty down in the dumps. He doesn't show it, but he's never gotten over her."

"Didn't the nerd get dumped years ago?"

"Five years, to be exact, yes. Which was why he left the previous training hospital to join this one. But anyway, that's not the point. Ellie approached me with her plan, and we've been carrying it out daily, every morning before Chuck reaches his department."

"So, you're planning on doing this to Daniel Shaw," Casey furrowed his brow skeptically.

"Precisely."

"And this would help Bartowski in exactly what way?"

"It would irritate Daniel, in addition to showing the damsel what a 'player' he is, and in turn, she would never consider dating him."

Casey let out an annoyed sigh, obviously unconvinced of Morgan's 'plan'. "Whatever. One complain and this stops, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Casey grinned viciously, patting–_slapping– _Morgan on the face as he stepped away from the bearded man.

With that, Casey exited the bathroom, moving toward the private room of one Sarah Walker, passing the same lunch table with disgust as Morgan rejoined the two, still seated there. His ears rang painfully as he heard his name in the same sentence as "sexual rendezvous" and "possible rape".

Knocking softly on Sarah's door, he stepped in, ignoring the ever-present Daniel Shaw who stood at the foot of her bed. He raised a brow as he noted the busted lip and black eye that had somehow sprouted overnight. "I'd like a word with Walker, Agent Shaw."

"Be my guest, Casey," he said as he stepped out of the room. Casey crinkled his brow in amusement as he heard Shaw mumble under his breath, "Maybe she'll actually converse with you."

"Walker," he greeted respectfully to the sulking woman resting on the bed.

"God, I hate him."

He grinned. "Just because he's your ex-boyfriend, doesn't mean he's an incompetent doctor and agent, Walker. He's just following Beckman's orders."

"That doesn't mean I have to play nice."

"How did you two break up again?"

"When I found him getting it on with my cleaning lady."

Sucking in a breath, hoping that no laughter escaped his throat, Casey folded his arms over his chest, allowing a wide grin to stretch across his face. "Didn't really need to hear that, but do you want me to punch him for you?"

"Yes, please."

His smile grew ferociously menacing as he contemplated dipping Shaw in the pot of steaming water that was Sarah Walker. He meant that in a non-sexual way, of course. "You could punch him yourself. He's been telling Chuck to stay away from you."

"Wow, I'm gone for five minutes and Walker has a new boytoy?" a familiar voice purred from the door as the slender, statuesque figure sauntered into the room, eliciting a grunt of disapproval from Casey and a wide, shining smile from Sarah. "I'm sorry about Fernandez, by the way."

"It's alright, Carina. How'd you get out of the CIA's clutches?"

Carina grinned slyly, moving to sit next to her on the bed, crossing her legs and grabbing her friend's hand in hers. She smiled up at Casey, batting her eyelashes seductively. "Hello, Johnny, fancy seeing you here. Didn't you retire prematurely or something?"

Casey grunted, waving her off as he exited the room.

"He's a happy person," Carina commented, giving her friend's hand a squeeze. "They just let me go," she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Just like that?" Sarah replied, skepticism written all over her face.

"Just like that."

"Carina, what did you do?"

"Oh, just... a little thing I learnt from my days in training, you know? I think it's called... seduction. But enough about me, Walker! What's this I hear about this _Chuck _guy?"

"He saved me," Sarah smiled, cursing when her cheeks began to burn a bright, tinted red. "He's the doctor that found me in the parking lot. I think Beckman filled you in on that."

"So is he cute? Is he an agent too? _Have you tapped that yet?"_

"What? No!"

"No, he's not cute? No, he's not an agent? No, you haven't tapped that but you really, really want to? Spit it out, Walker."

Squirming uncomfortably in her spot, Sarah glared at her friend as Carina relished in her blatant questions, an expression of obvious delight on her face. "Will you quit it? There's nothing going on between us!"

"Sure," the redhead grinned, folding her arms. "So why is he walking this way right now, obviously clueless of my presence and the fact that Daniel's your physician?"

* * *

Filler chapter, I know. ): So was **theprincess1511 **lying? ):


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